


Good Girl

by fuckyatta



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Play, F/F, Leather, Light BDSM, Pet Play, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 13:25:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyatta/pseuds/fuckyatta
Summary: Angela commands, and Moira obeys





	Good Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! 
> 
> I apologize for my absence. I believe it's been a year since posting? That's a long time. 2018 was a rough year.
> 
> I am working on an overwatch visual novel. I'm hoping for it to come out early this year. And then afterwards I want to work on an original book. Fans of the discontinued Blood Money will like it hopefully. 
> 
> As always, I love critiques, comments, and getting requests from you guys.

It had been Angela's idea, at first. Hastily brought up post coitus as the two cuddled amidst haphazardly thrown sheets and Moira pressed satisfied, sleepy kisses to her neck, hoping that she would go unheard and the moment would be forgotten. Sometime later, much later, when Angela herself had forgotten, Moira reminded her of it, expressing her own interest in it, after giving it some thought. They'd discussed this very scenario a myriad of times. Gone through carefully researching and learning each other's boundaries. They had even rehearsed the scene, granted without the fancy bells and whistles, so that nothing would go wrong. Despite all this nothing could have prepared Angela to see Moira, standing just outside her door, illuminated only by the moon peeking through their blinds and the lamp at their bedside table. 

A harness, its thick leather straps and sturdy stainless steel rings wrapped itself around Moira's chest and lifted her small breasts. A collar adorned with studs and blank dog tags clinked with the slight movement of her neck. Angela tried not to stare at the fake cock strapped to her hips, a shiny black like the rest of her get up, its girth resting atop a set of heavy balls. The most daunting of it all, though, had been the leather mask she wore, rough leather molded to resemble a Doberman, with straps that disheveled her wild red hair. Otherwise, the woman before her stands nude. 

Angela feels silly, really, for being the one to feel any sort of anxiousness, sitting atop the bed wearing her nightgown, a leash in hand. But Moira is, surprisingly, a kind and patient woman, does not move nor speak a word as she waits for Angela's signal. Swallowing her nerves, to not keep Moira standing there for too long, Angela speaks. 

"Come." Her voice gives away her unease, but Moira makes no indication that she's noticed. Instead, she does as she's told, moving towards Angela with a strong stride, bare feet barely a whisper against the carpeted floor. She stops once she's met with the bed's footrest. She says nothing, staring down at Angela. Her height makes her a frightening figure, donned in all black, but Angela knows better than to be afraid of Moira. "Kneel," she says, and Moira does just so, long legs bending awkwardly and diminishing her height significantly.

Slowly working towards gaining her confidence, Angela shuffles forward, reaching a tentative hand towards Moira. For a long moment Moira stares at the intrusion, giving a slight cock of her head before craning her neck and taking a curious sniff. The mask is cold, the bump of her nose rubbing into Angela's palm. She hesitates before petting Moira's long muzzle, and Moira closes her eyes as she presses into the feeling. Angela smiles, amused by Moira's dedication to her role, continuing up until she's scratching at her scalp. "Good girl," she coos, giving a kiss between her leather ears. 

With a click, Angela attached the leash to Moira's collar, giving it an experimental tug. "Come here." 

Moira obeys. On her hands and knees she clambers up the footrest to the mattress, with a clumsy awkwardness that manages to be endearing and alluring given the circumstance. Slowly, Angela backs up as Moira comes forward, until Angela is lying down, her hair flowing behind her like a halo, and Moira hunched over her. Her eyes are wide open now, a shocking contrast against dark leather. Her look is intense, maddeningly hungry as she stares Angela down. It nearly knocks the wind out of her, she has to take a moment, remind herself who is in charge and take initiative. 

"Touch me." Moira is given the green light, and a careful broad hand rests atop Angela's abdomen, her palm warm even through Angela's silk gown. With slow, deliberate movements, her hand travels down, until she's reached Angela's lacy hem, delving beneath it to meet soft skin. Moira and Angela watch as her large hand moves its way up. It leaves goosebumps in its wake, lifting up Angela's gown until it rests above her breasts. 

Her bra is a beautiful baby blue, intricate lace woven atop the cups and along the straps. Moira tugs the front of her bra down, enough for Angela’s breast to spill out some and for her nipples to peak from the material. Moira sits straight up, long legs straddling Angela’s wide hips, staring down at her prize. Moira stares down at her, eerily silent, until she gets the smallest of nods. She squeezes Angela’s breasts greedily, growling low and seductively. It causes a hitch in Angela’s breath, a buck of her hips. Moira pushes her weight down, stifling her movements. 

“Good girl,” Angela huffs, biting down on her lip as she watches Moira’s large hands knead the flesh of her tits and pinch her nipples. Her cold muzzle presses against her collarbone, tracing down towards the dip and in between breasts. Moira exhales heavily through her nose, frustrated, and Angela giggles, hand running through her messy hair. “You can use your mouth later, baby.” She’s not used to the nicknames she calls her, but they come out easily in this situation, Moira all dressed up for her. And Moira seems to enjoy them, if the pleased hum she emits means anything.

So instead, Moira opts for nuzzling her face against her, soft leather cooling Angela’s warm skin. With encouraging scratches to her scalp, her hands wander, fingertips ticking Angela’s ribs and a cold nose following suit. She stops a moment at her belly to admire the soft skin there, brushing past peach fuzz. She hums, pressing a cheek against her, eyes closed and soaking in the intimate moment. Angela allows it, at least for the time being, and until she gets to impatient Moira huffs, returning her trek downwards. 

Deft fingers delve beneath Angela’s panties, swiftly pulling them down her legs. Moira is delicate with her legs, slowly lifting one after the other to assist in removing her underwear, taking a moment to gently press her muzzle against each leg before placing them back down atop the comforter. 

Moira eyes the treat before her, hands placed below Angela’s thighs to spread them at her will. And once she has her where she wants her, she cups her between her legs, meeting liquid heat and Angela gasps, tugging at her leash.

“Settle down,” she says tone assertive yet teasingly coy, and Moira obeys. Instead, she runs her fingers through course, blonde hairs, higher still as she pets up her abdomen then giving her breast a hungry squeeze, releasing as she began to shuffle downwards until she’s lying on belly, propped up by her elbows and eyeing down Angela’s cunt. Dark eyes watch Angela as she sits there, stock still, waiting for her command. Angela stares back, shivering when hands dig into her hips. She holds the moment there for just a second longer, to drink in the sight of Moira so obedient and loyal between her legs, almost as if she belongs there. She takes in a shaky breath before speaking again. “Go ahead.”

The hands at her hips travel downwards, til they’re just below her ass, grip strong to keep her where she is. Calloused thumbs reach over to her cunt, gently pulling back her labia to present herself to her. Moira hums, patient as ever, simply enjoying the view, making Angela whine, pressing her head back into her pillow. Any attempts at moving her hips proves nill. She doesn’t have to wait long, though, as Moira moves in, cold nose pressing against her, swiping up and bumping her clit. Moira groans in appreciation, with no sense of feeling or taste she simply has smell to go off of, closing her eyes and taking in Angela’s musk. She repeats the action again and again, until Angela’s legs are shaking, and her hips jump at the feeling of her nose on her clit, until her breathing is a twinge erratic and Moira’s neck is beginning to itch because of Angela’s incessant tugging. “Let go,” she says, and Moira obeys, releasing her grip from Angela’s thighs and allowing her to grind down against her muzzle. 

Angela unabashedly moans, her hips rise and her feet dig into the comforter. She pulls Moira closer to her cunt, keeping her there to do with as she pleases. She’s embarrassed by how good it feels, how it feels to control Moira and how the cold leather feels pressed inside her and against her clit. But the pressure building inside her pushes the feeling aside, and she controls her own urge to come against Moira’s face, slowing down her movements until she’s stopped completely. She calms her breathing, staring down at Moira, who lifts herself up onto her haunches. Her muzzle is considerably darker, wet and shiny with her slick. 

Angela gives her a smile, feeling much more comfortable in her role. “Come here,” she says, and Moira obeys. She crawls atop Angela’s body, until they’re face to face. Angela can smell her own musk against Moira’s muzzle, and she reaches up to tentatively kiss her snout. The texture is rough, warm, wet. The taste is bitter and tangy, and she kisses her again. Moira returns the gesture as best she can, pressing against her lips, and Angela giggles at her attempt. Soft hands travel the expanse of Moira’s handsome form, outlining her harness, feeling the bump of a broken rib from a mission who knows how many years ago, recounting the long, gnarly scar across her belly from a run in with an assassin in Rialto. Angela had given her hell for it back at base, all that time ago, but Angela now thinks differently, thinks it gives her character, a story to tell. 

Her hands reach the straps of strap-on. She hooks one finger under the strap around her pelvis, tugging on it. “Come up higher,” and Moira does, shuffling forward until she’s above Angela’s chest, arms out and palms against the wall behind the headrest.

Angela murmurs little nothings, hands grazing down long legs, then back up til they’re tracing Moira’s jutting hip bone. She looks up at Moira, and Moira looks back down at her, watching her intently. Angela hums, snaking her hands around to Moira’s ass, squeezing and pulling her forward somewhat. Lithe fingers pull apart her cheeks, traveling in between until she’s reached what is arguably her favorite part of the ensemble. A fluffy, docked tail, nestled into her ass. Moira had protested the idea at first, but relented when Angela shared her extensive interest in the item. Angela revels in the idea of Moira having to insert the plug inside herself before walking into their bedroom. How long did it take? Did she put it on first or last, admiring herself in the mirror while she fingered her asshole? How did it feel to press to cold metal of it inside of her?

Angela presses a finger against it, pushing it just a tad further into her, and Moira groans above her, nearly smacking her in the face with her strap on when she bucks forward. Her eyes are shut tight, eyebrows peeking from the eye holes from being furrowed. Angela wishes she could see how red Moira’s face must be. She will at a later time, she hopes. “Sit still,” She says, and Moira obeys. Her legs shake as Angela continues her ministrations. She holds it between her fingers, moving the toy in shallow, little thrusts, that make Moira whine. She urges her to move just the slightest bit forwards, until the strap-on sits heavily against Angela’s cheek. Angela adjusts herself, opens her mouth, and runs her tongue along the silicone cock. She can’t take the cock into her mouth from this angle, so she settles on swiping her tongue from the base to the tip, coating it in saliva. And once she’s satisfied, she lays a kiss to a large vein bulging from its side before backing away. Giving Moira’s hip a light tap, she orders her down, and with an audible swallow, Moira obeys, legs still a bit shaky but confident in her movements as she travels downwards, back to her spot between Angela’s legs. 

Angela looks up at her expectantly, and she doesn’t need instruction to continue. She raises Angela’s hips to align her with her cock. Her first thrust is messy, intentionally thrusting between her labia to coat it in slick, and to tease Angela’s clit with the tip of her cock. Once she’s pleased, and she’s riled up Angela enough, she presses her cock against Angela’s entrance, slowly pushing the head in. 

Angela whimpers, surges her hips forward to take more of her in. Moira huffs at Angela’s impatience, but abides her desire, pushing inside her, and hands on her hips pulling her towards her. It’s a perfect fit, made just for her. The girth is just enough to stretch, the length just enough to bump her cervix if pushed hard enough. Angela feels full and content, face red hot and breathing beginning to quicken. “Stay still,” she says, and Moira obeys. Angela reaches a hand over towards Moira’s, leading it down to her clit. Moira understands, and she keeps herself stockstill as she thumbs at Angela’s clit, alternating between circles and figure eights. Angela moans, rutting her hips down onto Moira’s cock and upwards towards her hand. 

Her mind goes fuzzy, hand gripping Moira’s wrist, the other holding on tight to her leash. Her knees want to buckle, but she forces them open. The thought that she is using Moira as a glorified toy runs across her mind, only heightening the pressure building within her core. Her back arches and she begins to lose control of her thrusts when Moira decides she’s done with simply observing. 

Moira’s back bows forward, other hand bracing itself to Angela’s side. Before Angela has a chance to react, Moira thrusts back into her, and Angela wails, shouting Moira’s name as spasms wrack her body. Moira continues to thrust into her, slow, assisting her in riding the waves of her orgasm. The hand at her clit leaves and resides on her other side, clutching the bed sheets. 

Just as she comes off of her orgasm, Moira picks up the pace. Her thrusts increase in speed and intensity. It’s overwhelming, Angela throwing her head back and groaning loudly. “Keep going!” She mewls, and Moira obeys, both hands going to the back of her hips to raise her to a higher angle, until Moira is on her knees and Angela’s back is bent forward. The new angle causes Moira’s cock to rub the soft, sensitive area of her g-spot, making Angela see stars. 

“Good girl! Good girl You’re such a good girl! Angela’s voice is on the edge of going out from her ragged breathy moans and heated shouts of praise. Quickly she’s on the verge to her next orgasm, and it crashes quicker than she anticipates. She shouts, pulling harshly against Moira’s leash, making her stumble forwards slightly, but not stop her brutal pistoning thrusts into her. 

Moira is breathing heavily above her, huffing and groaning and growling. Her nails dig into Angela’s soft skin, sure to make a mark. Angela has a hard time keeping her eyes open with Moira watching her so intensely. She’s worked up a sweat, and her damp hair falls in front of her mask in wavy tresses. Angela can hardly speak, sentences becoming choppy, half finished words and broken moans. Moira manages to rip two more orgasms from Angela before she’s pushing a weak hand against Moira’s abdomen, softly pushing her away.

With great efficiency, Moira lies Angela down on top of the comforter, pulling herself out of Angela’s cunt. She waits until Angela’s breath is considerably calmed, when Angela ushers her downwards so her leash my be unclipped, so that she is allowed to speak.

“I’m going to start a bath.” Moira mumbles, a bit incoherent behind the leather but still Angela understands and nods. She feels heavy, burdened by exhaustion and the need to sleep, but she keeps herself awake for what is to come next.

Slowly, Moira steps off the bed, padding into the bathroom connected to their bedroom. Angela hears the bathtub faucet turn on and the tub begin to fill with water. Eventually it is followed by the sound of metal clinking down on the tiled floor, and Angela musters up the energy to get out of the bed, shaky legs leading her to the bathroom.

She’s startled by the sight of Moira inside the bathtub, long limbs hardly able to fit inside, and leather doberman mask still on. There is two bathrobes set aside and a couple of hand towels. A plethora of candles have been lit and placed in various spots. A myriad of bath products lie precariously on the lid of the bathtub, and a bath bomb is currently fizzling amidst the water. 

Moira turns to her. “I couldn’t get it off.” She says, voice straight and calculated.

Angela stands there a moment before laughing full heartedly, clutching the doorframe to prevent herself from falling. She takes off her remaining clothes, making her way towards the bathtub, giggling the whole way there.

“Lower your head,” she says, and Moira obeys, ducking her head down. She must’ve clipped it on wrong when putting it on, as it takes a good handful of manhandling to finally get the mask off of her. 

Moira gasps is relief. Her face is comically red and face covered in sweat. “It’s bloody hot under that thing.” 

Angela giggles as she drops the mask down to the floor before tiptoeing into the bathtub to join Moira. She crawls on top of her lap and kisses her, running her hands through her hair. Moira returns the kiss enthusiastically, placing a hand at the small of her back.

When they break apart Angela smiles at her. “Who’s my good girl?”

Moira rolls her eyes, flustered. “I am.”


End file.
